Yorkshire Ditties, First Series eBook

Th’ last month i’th’ year isn’t
a bad time to luk back an’ see ha we’ve
spent th’ past eleven, an’ aw think ther’s
few but what’ll be able to see monny a place
where they’ve missed it. An’ if
soa we’d better mak th’ best o’th’
few days left to mak what amends we can. Owd
Christmas comes in smilin’, with his holly an’
his mistletoe, an’ his gooid tempered face surraanded
wi’ steam of plum puddin’ an’ roast
beef—­tables get tested what weight they
can bear—­owd fowk an’ young ens exchange
greetin’s, punch bowls steam up; an’ lemons
an’ nutmegs suffer theresen to be rubbed, scrubbed,
sliced, an’ stewed; an’ iverybody at can,
seems to be jolly at Christmas. Some fowk luk
forrard to Christmas just for th’ sake of a
gooid feed, an’ aw’ve seen odd ens, nah
an’ then, ’at can tuck it in i’
fine style. Aw recollect one Christmas when Jooan
o’ Jenny’s (we used to call him Jooan
long stummack) went to London (he’d one o’th’
best twists aw iver met wi’), an’ he wor
takken varry wamley for want ov a bit ov a bitin on,
soa he went into a cook’s shop an’ ax’d
’em ha mich they’d mak him a dinner for?
“Eighteenpence, sur,” said th’
maister, “come, sit daan an’ help thisen.”
Soa he sat daan just at th’ front ov a lump
o’ rooast beef, an’ cut a piece off as
big as a brick, an’ he worn’t lang i’
polishin’ that an’ cutting another.
Th’ landlord wor rayther capped when he saw
it goa like that, an’ he says “Tha’rt
hungary, lad, aw think! Will ta have, summat
to sup?” “Noa thank yo, sur,” says
Jooan, “not just yet.” He varry sooin
put th’ second lot where it could keep th’
furst company, an’ began cuttin’ a third;
this made th’ maister seem varry uneasy, an’
he says, “Tha’d better have summat to
sup, lad! Mun aw fotch thi a pint o’ drink?”
“Noa, thank yo,” said Jooan, “aw
mak a practice niver to sup till aw’ve hauf,
done.” “Why, lad,” says th’
landlord, “haitch will ta tak’ to drop
it?” “Well” said Jooan, “if
yo dooant like my company aw’m sooary aw’ve
come, but aw shouldn’t like to leave this table
for less nor hauf a craan, if aw do aw shall be a
loiser.” Th’ old chap pooled awt
hauf a craan an’ banged it on to th’ table,
an’ says, “Tak’ it, an’ tak’
thisen away, an’ niver put thi fooit i’
my haase agean as long as tha’s a day to live;
tha’d ruin me in a wick.” “Why,
maister,” he says, “yo cap me sayin’
soa, for aw can’t ait as mich bi a caah head
as once aw cud. Aw’ll tak’ th’
hauf crawn; gooid day, maister; you’ve made
a shillin ’at me.”

Mediated Strike

At a meeting of the tax-collectors of the W—–­
R—–­g of —–­shire,
held in one of the cells beneath the Town Hall it
was proposed, “That we, the tax gatherers and
rate collectors of the W—–­ R—–­g
of —–­shire do intend to throw up
our offices, unless our wages are reduced or our labours
increased, for being like unto other men, possessed
of consciences, we are frequently tormented with the
thought, that we are receiving more than what is our